Leonard Jackson, MD
by Greenbush
Summary: Dean's got a bullet in his leg, but Bobby knows someone who can help.   Set early Season 2 – spoliers from the first episode.


For Bambles: thank you for introducing me to these guys, and for providing the wet kipper.

* * *

"Just," Dean panted, "just get it out."

"I can't." Bobby peered over his glasses into Dean's eyes, "It's in too deep. I'm gonna call Leo. Sam, you patch him up."

"Sam..?" Dean said.

"If Bobby says he can't do it, he can't do it. And don't even ask me to try." Sam said as he gathered the supplies to re-dress the wound.

"Crap." Dean muttered. Once Bobby had left the room he let his head fall back on to the cushion and closed his eyes. He wasn't going to win this one and he was pissed. Not at Bobby or Sam, really, just at the prospect of being carted off to be prodded and poked by a geriatric quack who probably should have retired twenty years ago. He had to admit that the bullet in his thigh hurt like a bitch. And it was throbbing even more since Bobby had been rummaging around in there. And on top of that he was beginning to feel a little light-headed and queasy. So, all thing's considered, it had been a fairly shitty day so far. He sucked in a deep breath, hoping it would chase away the unwelcome feelings.

"Are you all right?" Sam said as he finished the dressing.

Dean didn't risk opening his eyes. "You mean apart from the friggin' massive hole in my leg?" he paused to catch his breath before adding, "Where the Hell's Bobby got to?"

"He's still talking to the Doc. We'll get you fixed up soon. Just hang in there."

Dean scowled. "Great advice, Shrink-boy." he said, "You know, I was just thinking of killing the time with a spot of marathon training. Then maybe a beer, pool, you know, could make an evening of it. Care to join me?"

Sam didn't answer. They both knew this was just Dean's way of dealing with the situation.

Bobby returned from his kitchen and looked down at Dean. "Okay, Sunshine, up you get, Leo will meet us there. Come on Sam, give me a hand."

Dean sat up, swung his legs off the couch, and planted both feet on the floor. Bobby and Sam moved either side of him and helped him to his feet. Well, foot. Dean balanced unsteadily on his good leg as they gave him time to get his bearings. The movement didn't help his nausea and for a moment Dean was sure that he was going to spatter Bobby's rug. Not that it would have been any detriment to the pattern, but it probably wouldn't have smelt too good for a while. But the feeling passed and he said "Okay, let's get this over with."

* * *

Doctor Leonard Jackson was at least seventy years old. But he was as sharp as a tack and still loved his job, even though he was semi-retired. He had been a friend of Bobby's since he'd rolled into Sioux Falls almost thirty years ago. They had been through good times and bad times, but together could solve just about any problem with a bottle of whiskey and a deck of cards. Nothing surprised him about Bobby anymore, not even when he turned up on his doorstep at all hours with one of his 'friends' who'd suffered a bizarre 'accident'.

So, here he was again, this time waiting for Bobby and the Winchesters. He was leaning on the doorframe of his clinic, enjoying the warm evening breeze billowing up his surgical scrubs. The scrubs were at least two sizes too big for his tall, wiry frame, but that's just the way he liked them, even if they did look faintly ridiculous.

It was the low rumble of the Impala that caught his attention and made him toss his unfinished cigarette to the floor.

Bobby stopped the car in front of him and the two men nodded a greeting. Leonard switched his attention to Sam, who was helping Dean out of the back seat. When Dean was upright Leonard could see bloody hole in his jeans.

"What the Hell have you done this time, Dean?" Leonard said.

"Nice to see you again, Bones." Dean said, smiling half-heartedly at the Doctor's assistant, "And you too, nurse Chapel."

The nurse smiled back. She'd met the Winchesters several times and Dean had yet to call her by her real name. The nicknames were hardly original, but coming from Dean, she didn't complain. In fact she quite liked hers, not that she'd ever let him know.

She held the door open for them and Bobby and Sam supported Dean as the threesome entered the clinic, followed by the Doctor. She had a quick look up and down the street and then locked the door behind her.

Dean's right leg was now a mass of fiery pins and needles and he grunted with each determined step-hop of his good leg. He only managed four hops down the corridor before it refused to move in time with Bobby and Sam, and he stopped.

"Come on, not much further." Sam said.

Dean started to move forward again but couldn't figure out how to get their rhythm back. The pain in his leg had become relentless. He was now dog-tired, couldn't really think straight, and just wanted to lie down and go to sleep for a week. After a couple more attempts he gave up and let Bobby and Sam virtually drag him down the corridor.

"What do I need to know, Sam?" Leonard asked.

"Happened four hours ago. Wasn't too bad at the beginning but it started bleeding a lot when Bobby tried to remove it, and that's when we called you. He's got worse on the way over here, but I don't think he's hurt anywhere else." Sam said.

"Just… his pride." Dean said.

They reached the clinic's examination room and sat Dean on the edge of the table.

Dean shuddered as Leonard swivelled him round and swung his legs onto the table. The fire in his right leg was now working its way up his back. It collided with the nausea in his stomach and created a swirling mass of lava that Dean was positive he was going to hurl this time. His arms tensed as he gripped onto the edges of the table. He closed his eyes and bit down hard on his bottom lip. He tried not to move, just focused on the sound of his pounding heart. Something, anything, to distract himself from the God-forsaken feelings.

Sam was stood at the other side of the table, his right hand supporting Dean's back, muttering words that Dean had stopped listening to. Dean's body suddenly called time out and his full weight pressed into Sam's hand. Dean never heard the surprise in Sam's voice or felt himself being laid flat on the table.

Leonard had already cut off Dean's jeans and the soaked dressing, and was peering into the wound. It was mid-thigh, about six centimetres across. He could see where Bobby had pried it open as he had searched for the bullet. It was oozing bright red blood which was pooling round the ragged pieces of Dean's skin. The blood began to trickle down the side of his thigh, meandering here and there when it met resistance from an old scar or a hair. Leonard put some gauze on the table to soak it up. He definitely didn't want to touch the wound until he was ready to start work on it.

"Did you give him anything?" Leonard asked without looking up.

"Does whiskey count?" Bobby said.

Leonard shook his head. "What is wrong with you people? Why didn't you bring him straight here?"

"You know what he's like, Leo. He wanted me to try." Bobby said.

"And I want to try to change the engine in my car. But I don't really try, do I, Bobby? No, I leave it to somebody who is qualified." Leonard looked up at Bobby as he emphasised the last word.

"Yeah, yeah." Bobby grumbled, "How about I put some coffee on. Am I qualified to do that, Leo?" Bobby didn't wait his friend to answer, just touched Sam's arm and said softly "I'll be right outside, son. Come and sit with me when you are ready." Sam nodded and Bobby headed off to the kitchen.

"BPs 85 over 75." reported the nurse.

"Get those fluids going now, Shelley." Leonard said as he looked at Dean's face. Dean's eyelids were flickering and he'd been still and quiet since Sam had laid him down. "Dean, you still with us?" Leonard asked.

Dean could hear the voices around him but they were faint and he couldn't make out the words. All he could see was the dazzling white of the ceiling light. And why did the Doc have to have the room so dammed hot? He wanted to reach out to Sam, to beg him to put the fire out on his leg. But he couldn't speak or move. All he could do was wait for it to be over.

Sam placed his hand on his brother's left arm. "Come on, Dean." he said, shaking the arm gently, "The Doc here needs to know that you are doing okay." The metallic smell of Dean's warm, fresh, blood filled Sam's nostrils and made his stomach turn over. "Dean? … Please, Dean." he said.

Dean made a noise which might, or might not, have been a word. But it was enough for Sam. At least he'd got something from his brother.

"Your blood pressure is just a bit low, Dean." Leonard said, "Once we get some fluids into you, you'll feel a lot better."

The nurse came over with a pair of scissors to cut off Dean's t-shirt. Sam stepped forward "Wait." he said, "He really likes this shirt, can't we just take it off him?"

"Doctor…?" she said.

"I don't care what you do, Shelley, as long as you get that IV going." Leonard said.

Sam pulled the t-shirt up to Dean's neck. He manoeuvred Dean's left arm, then his right, and pulled it over his head until Dean was free. Sam stood back out of the nurse's way, clutching the warm shirt to his chest.

Shelley inserted the needle into Dean's left arm and attached the tube connected to the bag of clear liquid. She twisted the valve until it was fully open and went to the cupboard to get Dean a gown. She draped it over his bare chest and stomach and her face almost touched his as she tied it behind his neck. She couldn't help thinking how attractive he was. He might be a mess right now, but he sure was a fine looking man. The kind of man that she wouldn't mind –

"… and give him these antibiotics." Leonard added.

Her momentary lack of professionalism brought a flush of rose to her cheeks. She immediately took the syringe and emptied the contents into the IV.

"Sam, follow me." Leonard said as he walked to the sink. He began scrubbing his hands with a nail brush and an orange-brown liquid. Sam thought it smelled of pine cones dipped in gasoline, but Leonard continued scrubbing and seemed unaware of the stench. "He's going to be fine. It's not that bad." Leonard said, but couldn't resist adding, "Despite the damage Bobby did."

Sam shifted self-consciously from one foot to the other as Leonard continued, "I don't have the equipment for a general anaesthetic so I'll just sedate him. He won't feel any pain, in fact he'll probably just fall asleep and not remember anything." Leonard rinsed and dried his hands. He grabbed a pair of surgical gloves and looked up at Sam, "Sam, he will be fine. Now get out of here and leave me in peace."

Leonard started to walk back over to Dean, leaving Sam standing at the sink still holding Dean's shirt. It had a faint aroma of leather and blood and Sam's thoughts drifted back to the car accident only two months ago; Dad's death, a Doctor treating his unconscious brother. It just wasn't right. Dean didn't deserve this. They didn't deserve this. They'd only been trying to help the guy, after all. Why did he have to panic and shoot Dean by mistake…? Sam didn't realise how tightly he was now gripping the shirt.

"Sam. Out. Go sit with Bobby." Leonard said.

As Sam reached the door he turned round for a final look at Dean. Shelley was holding Dean's right wrist steady as Leonard inserted a needle in the back of his hand. The IV had started to revive Dean and he had half-opened his eyes, trying to watch as the Doctor pushed the syringe of thick white liquid slowly through the needle.

Nothing happened at first. Then Dean could have sworn that he felt the liquid travelling up his arm, across his shoulder, and up his neck. Once it reached his head it wrapped his brain in a warm blanket and the pain disappeared as the darkness descended.

Dean had no idea how much time had passed when he heard Leonard say "How are you doing there, Dean?"

_How'm I doing where? _

_Oh yeah, the clinic._

_Stupid bastard freaked out and shot me._

"I'll take that as okay. You let me know straight away if you feel anything and I'll give you a top-up. Deal?" Leonard said. He put down the clamp and picked up the gauze.

_Whoa._

Dean had become aware of a new sensation. Every time he breathed in a warm glow started in his feet and worked its way up his body until it exploded like a firework in his head. The deeper he breathed, the more pleasurable it was. It was positively orgasmic.

_Holy… Why haven't I realised before how friggin' amazing breathing is? _

_Breathing's got to be the most awesome thing on the planet. _

He breathed in again to check that the feeling was still there.

_Awesome._

_That's it, I'm giving up porn for breathing._

Dean moaned in pleasure.

"Are you feeling any pain, Dean?" Leonard asked. He stopped and looked up at Dean's face. His colour was almost back to normal and his face looked peaceful, there was maybe even a hint of a smile on his lips. "Guess not. Let's carry on, Shelley." he said.

Dean revelled in his breathing and didn't realise that he'd drifted off to sleep until he was woken sometime later.

_Is that singing?_

"… I'd like to have the time I lost, and give it back to you. But you …"

_Is that Bobby singing? _

"… just smile and take my hand, you've been there…"

_Jesus, that's not Bobby. _

_The old bastard sings country as he slices._

_Screw this._

_Sam, we are leaving right now. _

Dean tried to open his eyes and sit up but his body wouldn't move.

_He's gonna cut off my leg by mistake. _

_He's gonna turn me into a_ _friggin'_ _pirate._

Dean felt something being pulled inside his leg. It wasn't painful, just weird. Like frogs-falling-from-the-sky-in-Kentucky weird.

_Oh, that can't be good._

_So gonna need a parrot. _

_And one of those triangle hats. _

_Black with a skull and crossbones. _

_What the Hell are they called..? _

_Doesn't matter, I'll ask Sammy later._

"… broken road that led me straight to you... Swab. Then we'll irrigate again, Shelley." Leonard said.

_Dude, at least sing a classic when you're crippling me._

Dean tried to request a change of genre but his lips wouldn't move.

"... into my lover's arms. This much I know is true..." Leonard continued enthusiastically, even if it was slightly out of tune.

_Don't give up the day job, Doc._

_Do they all have eye patches? _

_'Cos that look's really gonna suck with the ladies. _

_Bet they itch like a bitch, too._

* * *

Dean was still asleep but he could hear Sam's voice. It was like a siren luring him to the surface. As it continued Dean began to understand the words. "…verified that Pukjinskwes was indeed a shape shifter who could variously transform herself into a man or an insect or – "

"Cold." Dean said groggily.

"Hey." Sam said as he snapped the book shut, "I'll get you another blanket."

Sam put Bobby's old, battered, book of Native American mythologies on Dean's bedside table. He got two blankets from the shelf and draped them over his brother. "Better? Do you want some water?" he asked.

"Parrot's gotta be blue, Sammy." Dean said. He opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times at the brightness of the overhead lights, "Don't get me a macaw. Too red. Only blue, okay?"

"I don't understand what – " Sam said.

"Doc wasn't paying attention." Dean turned his head to look at Sam, "Cut off my leg. Gonna need a parrot. Blue'll go better with my eyes. Y'know, when it's sat on my shoulder."

"No, no, you're fine, Dean. You've got both legs. I promise. Look." Sam said.

Sam helped him to sit up. Dean squinted at his feet and said "Oh, okay."

Sam lowered him back down and arranged the blankets again so that only Dean's face and left arm were uncovered.

Sam had just sat back down when Dean said "Breathing's gone wrong, though."

"What do you mean? Gone wrong, how?" Sam didn't wait for an answer and was almost to the door before turning round and adding, "I'll be right back."

Sam was tugging at the arm of Leonard's scrubs as he hurriedly led him into the room.

"What's the problem with your breathing, Dean?" Leonard said calmly. He slipped his stethoscope underneath Dean's gown and listened to the right side of his chest, and then the left, "Does your chest hurt? Does it feel like you can't get enough air in? Tell me what's wrong."

"'S'not fun anymore." Dean said.

"Fun?" Sam repeated, "He's talking about wanting a parrot, too, Doc. What's wrong with him?"

Leonard smiled. "Dean, the sedative's wearing off, that's all. It's just the way it effects some people. There is nothing wrong with your breathing and you don't want a parrot."

"No?" Dean sounded dismayed.

"No." Leonard said.

"You're sure?" Dean asked.

"Yes. I'm sure." Leonard said to his sceptical patient, "Is your leg giving you any pain?"

"It's fine. When can – " Dean began.

"When the IV's finished. I swear, Dean, you're the most impatient patient I've ever had." Leonard turned to leave but Dean reached out to him.

"Wait, Doc. How – "

"About five hours. Now go back to sleep before I change my mind and make you stay overnight. And don't think I won't. I've got drugs in that cabinet that can keep you flat on your ass for a whole week. Sam, I'll be in the kitchen with Bobby if you need me." Leonard said.

"Thanks, Doc. For everything." Sam smiled.

"Yeah, Doc." Dean said. The warmth from the blankets was making him drowsy, "Hey, Sammy, seen as though we have a few hours to kill, I could really go for – "

"With extra onions?" Sam asked.

"You bet." Dean had already closed his eyes as he waited for his lunch to arrive, "Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Not red, remember...?"


End file.
